


Twenty-four Hour Aches

by hiroshimalovers



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: 2nd person POV, Depression, Destructive Relationship, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 09:39:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2503166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiroshimalovers/pseuds/hiroshimalovers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you want to rip his face off but mostly you just want to worship it. </p>
<p>(You are less than the dirt on his jeans.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twenty-four Hour Aches

**Author's Note:**

> Check notes, please.
> 
> 2nd person from Grantaire's POV. Soon, there will be longer and less angsty words.

You are on your knees. He is above you and it is almost menacing. Your eyes are glued to him and he is beautiful.

Exhale.

Enjolras is standing tall, his hair glinting in the light streaming through the Musain's window. He is illuminated.

(He is a god.)

Glancing down, your hands are stained with graphite. Chewed fingernails, bruised knuckles, you are nothing compared to his pale skin and straight teeth. Sometimes you want to rip his face off but mostly you just want to worship it. 

(You are less than the dirt on his jeans.)

You are on your knees, staring up and of course he is stunning from this angle as well. Your knees ache and your hair is wild but his hands do nothing for your looks. No one will notice an extra scratch and he knows. Of course he knows. 

You are on your knees and he put you there. 

Does he know how much power he has over you?

(Do you really want to know the answer?)

You've never seen him cry and you refuse to let him watch a tear slide down your face. You turn away, eyes down.

He treats you as if you are less than him and in too many ways you are but he is a god. He is something else, he is tall and a beacon of hope to so many other hopeless souls like you. You are glad you are on your knees. It is something so many others will never experience and you, he chose you. That's something, you're something.

You are something if he makes you something. 

(He doesn't)

Inhale.

Smoke passes your lips and you imagine something else. Enjolras is inside, he is speaking with all the strength that only one such as him can muster. They follow him and you do too but they have a choice. You follow because you are blind.

In some way, you know that this is not right, he does not treat you in the right ways but you can't bring yourself to care.

(This is a lie. You just pretend you don't.)

You are on your knees. He's never seen you with your shirt off but you have dragged your hands across his chest too many times to count. The only way you know he isn't marble is because he bruises, such a stunning purple. 

It clashes with his red. Red is his color, symbolizing things you can never hope to understand. 

You kiss him hard and fierce and you rock against each other like an ocean crashing against the waves. Your back digs into a railing but you know he does not care. 

You are on your knees. Your breath catches in your throat and breathing is forgotten. Your hands tighten and he is more than you can ever hope to achieve.

Sighing, whispering, whimpering, you know every bruise is worth it. It is a relationship of polar opposites and you are the one who bends.

(You wish you could say you don't break.)

(You do.)

Your relationship is broken glass. It is crushed, tiny pieces but it never disappears. It always comes back to stab you in the foot. It rips you apart and sews you back together with your arms on backwards. 

He destroys you. What you don't know is you destroy him as well. 

Exhale.

You are on your knees and his hands are in your hair. Your eyes are screwed shut and he is still beautiful.


End file.
